


Haste makes waste

by Florchis



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Domme Jemma Simmons, Explicit Consent, F/M, Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week, Healing, LLF Comment Project, Light BDSM, Making Out, Post-Framework Universe (Marvel), bdsm undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:31:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florchis/pseuds/Florchis
Summary: Jemma is not a patient person, but she can be patient with Fitz while he finds his footing again after the Framework.Only that sometimes she can be the one to be a little in control.





	Haste makes waste

**Author's Note:**

> For Fitzsimmons Appreciation Weey Day 3: Trust + a tumblr prompt that requested Domme Jemma.
> 
> This glosses over issues Fitz might have post-Framework, but nothing detailed at all.
> 
> Rated T for BDSM undertones (under the understanding that they have done that kind of thing before; talk to each other and play safe, kids!).

After the initial panic of just-out-of-the-water shock, Jemma was not worried about whether Fitz and her would make it as a couple or not.

Saddened about what happened? Yes. Angry? Of course. But not worried. They had gone through a lot, both as a fixed pair and as individuals, and they have come out on the other side stronger each time. Jemma was confident that this time they would be able to do the same.

It would take time, sure, and a lot of patience, but she is willing to do whatever it takes; she is not a patient person by nature, but for him, she can have patience in spades.

Sometimes it feels like a shocking contrast, because they went from deciding which colors they should use to paint their new home to asking each other permission to hold hands. She comforts herself thinking that their relationship went through a lot of changes in the last fourteen years; this one is just one of the bunch. Thinking of it as “nothing special” helps her diminish the power it holds above them; if only that way of thinking could help Fitz out too.

The experience is different for him, because it involves other kinds of trauma, like the hesitation over his entire self, and the shameless belittling of his memories, and he can not just separate that from his faint attempts at rekindling his relationship with Jemma. Considering that, there are obvious things that work for him, like the tender intimacy of just sharing a silent moment with her, and Jemma telling him stories of their past and sharing with him fond memories of all the times his nimbleness helped them make the world a better place.         

Jemma doesn’t experience being patient with him as a sacrifice she is making; he is her partner, has always been, and will always be, and adapting themselves to the other’s speed rate has always been a requirement for that.

That doesn’t mean that sometimes speeding things up a little bit can’t be her own strategy too.

They are laying together on the bed- hers; he has not been up to sharing a bed with her full time just yet, but Jemma _can and will_ be patient-, making out like two teenagers. They have gone this far a couple times already; he is always the one to put on the brakes, and Jemma backs off as soon as he asks: he is testing out his own limits, and she is playing the long game of not pushing the boundaries, but at the same time standing her own ground. But this time, when they break off the kiss, he doesn't look panicked just overwhelmed, and since he hasn’t asked for some distance yet, Jemma dares take both his wrists to help ground him.

“Fitz. Are you okay?”

He nods forcefully, and Jemma waits for another kind of explanation but he provides none, just the rapid raising and lowering of his chest. His bad hand is acting up, but looks more like a reaction to overstimulation than the classic tell tale of his anxiety. Jemma waits a couple beats and then starts massaging it gently. He whimpers, almost like the contact is one ounce over what he can take, but Jemma watches him carefully, and he doesn’t ask her to stop. It’s not a hard rule by any means, but she has told him over and over that as far as their psychic connection goes, she can not actually read his mind, and he has to use his words to communicate a need or a complex emotion. 

The massaging of his hand evolves into her hands sensually rubbing the inside of his arms; if pressed, Jemma would say that Fitz with his eyes closed and kiss-swollen lips in a mid-sigh is the actual representation of sensuousness. Her hands are hungry for his skin, and moving upwards his arms her fingertips remember every crease and every nook of his face, the lightness of his eyelashes, the contrast between the softness of his lips and the roughness of his stubble.

It’s such a simple touch, but she feels exhilarated, the freedom to explore again making her dizzy. She needs him closer, to make him part of her own skin, so she replaces her hands with her lips, her tongue behind his ear, her teeth scraping against his neck. He is shivering under her, and for the first time in a long time that makes her feel powerful instead of ashamed. She longs for the time when he was eager and inventive in the bedroom, but she enjoys this too, and she _can_ be patient.        

“Fitz.” She waits until he is looking her in the eyes, and his unfocused ones have cleared up a little bit to continue speaking. She needs the reassurance, and he probably needs the reminder too. “You know that you say the word and I will stop, right?”

He nods, and Jemma wonders if maybe this is going a little beyond what he is comfortable with, but he is a consenting adult who needs to remember that he is the owner of his own body, that he can and should take his own decisions, and she has to respect him as such.

She lays down on top of him, pinning his hands with hers over his head. It’s an experience in trust, of course, but he has always loved her being a little bossy, outside the bedroom and inside too. Even so, checking with him will help them both keep things under control.

“Is this okay?” He makes an inintelligible guttural sound, and a floating laughter is born inside Jemma’s chest at seeing him so unraveled. There is a little teasing on her insistence, and a lot of not being enough of a fool to believe that the absence of a no means a yes. “I need a clear yes, Fitz.”

He struggles with his answer, and Jemma ponders over reassuring him, but first she needs to know that they are at least _trying_ to be on the same page.

“Yes.” His voice is not exactly firm, but there is resolution on his eyes; wanting to be okay, Jemma believes, is sometimes at least half part of actually being okay.

“I will keep on checking on you, is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“You can ask me to stop, but you can also ask me to slow down, is that clear?”

He is looking at her with something close to mischief, and Jemma’s heart climbs to her throat.

“I remember our old rules, Jemma.”

In the past, she would have reminded him that _Jemma_ was not his name for her on this kind of situation; but her play nickname hits too close to too many dark memories. They will have time to come up with a new one; right now, they are just regaining muscle memory.

“Good. That is…, um, good.”

She kisses him again to steady herself, and his lips are wet and avid against hers. Her hand snakes down his chest to fist the last two buttons of his shirt, and the graze of her fingers against the sensitive skin of his belly makes him shiver. She won’t be taking off his clothes, not this time yet, but she tests her luck going as far as nuzzling his collarbone with her nose, separating a little the un-buttoned flaps. She missed him so much, she feels like a castaway that has been finally granted freshwater; she wants to touch him everywhere and remember all the ways in which he is her old Fitz and learn all the new ways in which he is her new Fitz.

But she can be patient.

She lets her weight settle more on top of his, and that seems to ground him, and at the same time make him impatient himself; he is squirming under her, and that is good, that he can feel desire this strong and allow himself to express his physical needs. It’s good. They are good.

She adds a little pressure on the hand that is holding his wrists, and he rewards her with a gasp. His skin is warm against hers in all the glorious points where they are touching, and it makes her feel feverish, but she needs to remember that she is in control here, and he is trusting her to do so.

“What color are we at, Fitz?”

His pupils are blown, and the blush high on his cheeks makes her proud.

“Green. So, so green.”             

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of LLF Comment Project, whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Prompts
>   * Image reactions/li>
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * This author replies to comments.
> 



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